Road Map
by Lizard Pie
Summary: Prussia's entire history is written on his body, and Canada is determined to get to know it. This sort of knowledge, however, doesn't come without a price.
1. Chapter 1

"The book said that you just lay on your stomach," Canada said. His unfortunately unconfident voice attempted to be as comforting as possible in the wake of what probably would never be admitted to be a very skeptical look. Canada was uncomfortable, hurt, and trounced by the fact that, even after being together for a good while, he would still be given something like that; but he'd expected it.

That's why they were doing this, Canada had decided.

Prussia covered up any real emotion with an over-used grin. "We'll have a lot more fun with this if I'm on my back…"

"Please?" Canada asked. He pointed to the instructions for emphasis. "The book says…"

"Okay, okay," Prussia said. He went out of his way to demonstrate his indigence as he laid down on the bed.

It exposed Prussia's back to the night air, and the intricate lacing of scars that came with it. His entire, brutal, history was written on his body; every partition, every bit of gained and removed territory, the cuts of a million treaties, wrapped around and ticked off the years like rings on a tree. Prussia knew each one by heart, no matter how much he'd prefer not to.

He became exceedingly uncomfortable when they were touched, and with the way his shoulders tensed there was no exception right then. Canada kneaded at the tight muscles, but there was little progress.

Canada's thumbs circled on a thick mark, an indentation along the shoulder blades that were still more pronounced than they should have been. He moved down into the marks of where rope had dug into his flesh from Denmark, where swords and arrows had pierced him in innumerable battles with the French, Austrians, and English. Canada wondered which ones had been caused by him; he was sure there were at least a few.

A little lower and there was a mark which undoubtedly belonged to Russia, as it wasn't hard at all to make out the faucet. He wondered if this was what the dreams with babbled Russian were about. Or, maybe it was another one. There was one which reached from his spine to his navel that looked like it could be more than a bit memorable.

"Am I doing alright?" Canada asked as his thumbs circled around on the lower back.

"It'd be better if you weren't tracing those again," Prussia said, his tone flat within the pillow his face was buried in.

"N-no, I'm not doing anything like that," Canada told him. He grabbed a little bit more oil and began to rub it as per the instructions. Having been caught, his eyes did the exploring his hands were no longer at liberty to. His eyes fell into the piercings of arrows, swords, and bullets. They followed the thick, bulging scars that wrapped around his torso from sacrificing land to Poland. They trickled upon marks that Hungary would be quick (and rather proud) to claim.

800 years of combat were visible, even if old pictures said that the scars were fading as those who still acknowledged him forgot, and he forgot along with them. As his physical body shrank, as his old scars shrank with it, that he was still capable of making new wounds was a source of pride.

Canada dodged a mark surrounded by the kind of tender, red flesh that Prussia cherished. He brushed over the symbols for Prussia's dissolution (he had no idea which one), and finally began to feel the wiry muscle relax at his touch.

He had his own scars, almost all coming from America's over-eager attempts at marriage and camaraderie. They were small and old, though, as England and France had absorbed most of the blows aimed at him. Unmarred skin was exotic amongst countries. However, when Canada saw so much of his own in the mirror every day there was little thrill.

But there was a single bit of it on Prussia, and that was beautiful. A tiny rhombus-like patch just above the tip of his shoulder blade, and Canada swirled his thumb on it. "What's this?"

Prussia answered him with a location's name that was obscured by the pillow and a thick accent. Canada retained none of it, but he leaned down and kissed the spot anyway. He smiled as he hovered above it; his lips glistened with a generous coating of oil.

"That part will be mine, then."

Just as quickly as the words had left his mouth, the muscle was tense again. Just like that, the fact that Canada was straddling his hips had become unbearably restrictive; and Prussia forced himself away from it.

The look he gave as he threw his shirt on was cold. It was as accusatory, dangerous, and pathetic as a prey animal; and just as unforgiving. The oil glued the fabric to his back, and made a grey blob which did no justice to the intricacy underneath.

"Prussia, look… I-I didn't mean to…"

He probably would have stumbled his way through dozens more apologies, which he would have meant even if he didn't understand them. He reached out to make contact, hopefully to pass the remorse that way, but Prussia dodged out of reach.

"It's fine," he said. "West is being a bitch about getting some paperwork done, I'm gonna go shut him up." His eyes were clearly looking through Canada to someone that wasn't in the room, and probably something that hadn't happened for at least decades. Prussia gave this specter glances that were somehow simultaneously apologetic and defiant.

"Oh... okay," Canada said. "I'll see you later, then."

Prussia gave only the attempt at a grunt for a reply before he turned and left the room, and then the house. Canada watched the greasy, gray smear as it disappeared over the ridge. He watched a little more before he realized he might never see it again, and put his head in his arms in defeat.

Which of the scars had it been that had triggered… whatever had been?

Was it the splattering of buckshot, or the incisions lined with surgical staples, or the thick, raised ones…?

Or did it not need to leave a visible mark at all?

If Prussia ever came back, Canada made a mental note that he would ask. On both of those, though, that was a very big 'if'.


	2. Chapter 2

Canada was fascinated by the world outside of his borders on the rare occasions that it would be made available to him. He wanted to know the land of his colonizers, especially, and he did so in the tiny peeks he was allowed. Having entered into what he was far too awesome to refer to as a relationship with Canada, Prussia was in the position of informant. He hadn't minded it, as he was able to get free beer out of it, typically, and someone who always wanted to hear his awesome stories was just as awesome. Well, not just, but fairly close.

Being so, it was almost a shame to punish him. Prussia, however, had made an entire history around ignoring 'almost'.

The G8 was just shy of impossible not to filibuster. And, while it was fun to cause it in the most boisterous way possible, honestly the party who wanted to cause it didn't need to say more than a sentence if they were smart about it.

UK would near start another war with France or US for something as minimal as a bump in the hallway, and they'd do the same for basically anyone in the room. Remind Italy that he was hungry, annoy Russia just the right way, get Germany flustered, and mountains would move before the G8 could bring itself to talk business again.

What took art was to actually make it efficient. And, more often than not, it took calling in well-placed favors; if you didn't want to do it for every country on the board. Again, if you were smart about it, and handled the situation with a Prussian-level of thoroughness, it was simple.

Even if the meeting was preceded with US giggling like an idiot about a favor being called in for seemingly nothing, even if France had gained the little smirk he had whenever he thought he'd taken advantage of someone.

Even if nobody could tell Prussia was going for the jugular, he was going in anyway.

Because of his unfortunate habit of being talked over and ignored at meetings, Canada had learned to pick his battles very carefully. There was an environmental bill on the table now that was his baby; and had been for quite a while. He'd been working for months to get it on the table, to be subliminal while being as forward as his voice allowed him to be.

Canada was optimistic, because confidence wasn't really his thing, that this would pass. He was attempting to be apologetic and cautious in Prussia's wake while being unable to control his smile as his proposal neared full agreement. Canada offered Prussia a look of treaty, and the smile was returned to some extent.

Evidently, his technique of hiding his intentions wasn't as sharp as it used to be; Canada shrunk back and returned to his papers. So he'd been discovered, and that concept of a secret plan was long gone. Not that it really mattered, things being how they were. It wasn't like there was any stopping it.

As England was leading the meeting, as he was under obligation from debt, he put forward the proposal immediately. After several arguments which were composed enough not to sound made up, Germany cast their opposing vote.

Canada appeared disappointed, but unsurprised; as he was when Italy voted in the same manner.

There was greater disappointment when France voted it down; but as he was one of the twin engines and he tried to move with Germany when it suited him, this wasn't much of a shock.

Russia's interest in oil trade made it understandable, but…

By this point Canada was well-beyond justifying the descent with the normal reasoning, and was very quickly getting the full picture of what was being done.

By the time US cast his vote, followed by Japan and then UK without so much as a hint of rebuttal, Canada's eyes were firmly locked on the German end of the table.

Prussia kept his hands folded, his smile small and professional, as the fact that Canada raised an objection to the popular vote was rendered meaningless.

Obligations completed, the meeting devolved into the typical chaos. Something or other vaguely reminded US of a movie he'd seen the other week, and the resulting bickering stripped their time of anything resembling progress.

Canada stared at Prussia; as firm a demand as Prussia had ever seen him make; certainly far more than Prussia had thought him capable of. It was a shame, he thought, that it only came about over something he should already have been well aware of. Perhaps he'd over-estimated exactly how close to his own awesomeness somebody else could reach; even if it was Canada.

He'd blame the lapse in judgment on non-German beer and probably a bit of afterglow.

Somewhere under the shouting over ridiculous things that would hardly be remembered by the time they made it to the hall, Prussia picked up something that sounded like "how could you?"

The triumphant smirk he had never been good at hiding grew as he watched everything besides the nation he'd just destroyed. It wasn't a good day, by any means. But it was a successful one; and that was more than enough.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed unbelievable just how recently it was that Prussia had gone to great lengths to lie to his bosses. He'd laughed over a beer in Canada's sitting room as he explained how he'd justified taking a long vacation in Toronto in the name of diplomacy, and brushed off any sort of trouble he'd be in when they found out about his deception.

Prussia asserted he always got what he wanted. And, with a wide hand motion which made his drink spill on the carpet, he said he wanted Canada. Canada could only blush, and smile at the stain they'd ended up leaving far too long to be removed all that time later.

That seemed like an eternity ago as Canada ran through the halls and tried to catch up with the quickly retreating Germans. They had a flight to catch as they always did, as they were due in Spain the following morning.

The brothers had a sense of urgency about their stride that carried them down the hall so quickly, but Canada had a greater one. He simply would not allow Prussia to get away, after all that had happened.

He yelled after them, and there wasn't a response. That wasn't new, of course, but this one had more to do with shunning than his uncanny knack for invisibility. Somewhere within him, he was proud he could be noticed enough to be shunned in the first place. That probably wasn't the best realization, though, so he brushed it off.

It was only when he clamped a hand on Prussia's shoulder that the older man bothered to turn around. Germany, seemingly, only paused because his brother had.

"We need to talk," Canada told him through heavy breath.

Prussia looked him over for a good while before he finally turned back and said what Canada assumed was a dismissal order to Germany. It was greeted with an obedient nod, and they were left alone.

When Prussia turned back, his eyes were indifferent. That was probably the worst part of the whole thing, Canada decided. He'd wanted a fight with someone just as angry as he was, if there would have to be one.

"How could you do that?" Canada asked. "You knew what that proposition was to me."

Prussia shrugged. "You should know."

"Y-you can't just do that and not explain!" Canada said. He tightened his grip on the coat sleeve to keep Prussia from getting away. "After all we've been through…"

"After all we've been through, you should know why I had to attack," Prussia said. There was edge to his voice that came from someplace old, someplace that hadn't been around for a rather long time. Dust was being cleared from ancient defenses as he stood taller. "You think you can just claim land as awesome as mine without consequences?"

He stared fiercely at Canada, and he obviously looked for something that was probably not an apology or explanation. He demanded acknowledgment of something that simply wasn't true, and he wasn't going to stop until he at least believed he had it.

"I… I didn't… I wasn't trying to claim land!" Canada insisted. He frowned when there was a scoff in return. "I wasn't!"

Prussia brushed him off. "Canada, you're just like a nation…"

"It wasn't about land!" Canada said, near yelled.

Prussia blinked at that, but nothing more.

"It… it was about love, and…"

And he laughed.

"It was!"

He laughed harder.

Canada's ears burned in embarrassment. He wanted to hit the grin off Prussia's face, and then do whatever it took to force him to understand. But, as had happened so many times before, he didn't do a thing. He let someone else move him, and let Prussia laugh until he was finished.

"You baby nations are so cute, you know that? You watch a few movies, and think any of us actually give a shit about human..."

"You don't understand!" Canada told him. "It was about love. But what you… what you did was horrible. You destroyed everything I worked for and you don't care…"

"Not really." Prussia looked at his watch. "I have a flight to catch. Anything else?"

"You're just going to end it like this?"

"There are worse ways." He said it definitively, and the tone made Canada step back a bit.

Canada wondered exactly how many forms of revenge had been considered and rejected by Prussia, and exactly how many were still a possibility if he was pushed to far. More, no doubt, were brewing as the eye contact didn't break.

"I-I guess there are," Canada said. "Goodbye, then…"

"Yeah, see ya." Prussia didn't look back as he rushed off after his brother, who was by that point probably at the airport.

The cleaning crews had started to arrive before Canada could bring himself to leave the building and head back home. By that point, he figured, the German brothers were back on a plane to Europe. Canada was sure that Prussia was thinking about him. Or, at least, he told himself that Prussia was thinking about him. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in this, even if it was obviously over.

Canada looked at the stain on the sitting room floor, and still felt arms that had held him while it set in. Arms that had no intention to return, nor did Canada really want them to.

It had been about love, even if Prussia had been insistent that nations didn't feel things like that. The history written all over him wouldn't let him believe it, and Canada figured that, really, he didn't need to be around negativity like that. This hurt, but it was better for him not to be tied down by the baggage of near a millennia of distrust and warfare.

He'd scrub in the morning, and if that didn't work he'd replace the carpet. That, at least, wasn't going to be permanent.


End file.
